Light
by Ansuz
Summary: Three paladins and the encounters that changed their lives. Contains same-sex insinuations and mild violence. One-shot/snapshot.


Warning: **insinuations of homosexuality, violence, and a bit of cursing**. Nothing in here exceeds the game, though.

Disclaimer: World of Warcraft does not belong to me and I make no profit from this. Blizzard does.

This has 3 snapshots of potential relationships of characters I've created on WoW. Just suggestions, really. Also, it proves that even with the Holy Light on your side...life is crap.

_Look At Her Face by The Coral Sea_

* * *

_**Love**_

_Aulun Valir and Hirnan Sunstalker_

* * *

Aulun sucked in a deep breath and rested his head against the cold stone wall. He was sick with thirst and hunger, but dared not move from where he sat. The cold stone leeched the warmth from his flesh even through his tunic and armour. Everything about the Eastern Plaguelands was so startlingly contrary to his nature he felt it as a tangible filth that clung to the back of his throat.

He clutched the familiar hilt of his sword and peeked out from behind the crumbling staircase. Shadows leaned menacingly across the tower's ancient wall, but nothing moved. He relaxed into his original position and closed his eyes. After a moment, he stood up as quietly as possible, but his armour trilled in the silence. He froze, ears straining, hairs on end.

Aulun managed to duck before a silhouette appeared in the room's (only) window. He didn't dare move or breathe or think. The icy tingle of Undeath sat between his brows like a needle, and he was keenly aware of the blood dribbling down his flank. The creature smelled it, hungered for it. He clutched his sword with clammy hands and waited. The room was merely a round tube to accommodate the stairs leading upwards. The door had rotted away long ago and there was simply no way he could go climb the stairs without attracting unwelcome attention.

An unearthly roar broke the silence. Aulun felt it like a fist to his guts and stumbled to his feet, and stared into the dumb, vicious eyes of an abomination. The smell forced him backwards, an unrelenting stench of rotting flesh.

"Hoooomon," it moaned, then reached one mutilated arm inside the window. Aulun hopped back against the wall and hissed, hand over his injured side. The abomination withdrew and suddenly heaved its entire weight against the wall. Dust rose from the old mortar. Aulun watched, transfixed by its simple desire for his flesh. Cracks opened up like the tributaries of a river, branching outward and widening, intersecting and deepening.

A pale stone fell, followed by another, and then another, until the wall wept with rock. Aulun was plucked from his daze, and raised his hand to the poisoned sky. Sullen sunlight filtered in through a crack in the ceiling. Light collected in his palm and its warmth vanquished the fear inside him. He blasted the abomination with holy magic, and for a moment it paused, startled. Without thinking, he ran towards the breached window. His boots thudded heavily on the floor, the impact resonated up his legs, but he didn't stop. He leapt onto the rubble piled beneath the window, then used his momentum to fly off the remains of the sill. He brought his sword hard onto its shoulder and landed just as putrid flesh ran like molasses around his feet. He gagged and sidestepped, back against the cold tower wall.

The abomination was not scared. It was angry and its hunger had a new urgency. The giant hook in its hand swung without warning. Aulun felt the impact hum through his bones, felt air beneath him, then hard, bruising ground. Somewhere his sword rang against stone. The sun hung overhead, a hole in an overturned bowl. The abomination grabbed his leg and held him upside down. His face throbbed with excess blood.

Laughter rose from somewhere behind them. The abomination grunted, its body taut with astonishment and pain. Death loosened its fingers and he hit the ground a second time. What breath he had recovered was driven out, and for a moment all he could do was lie on the uneven cobblestone floor beneath him and pant. Then a shadow fell over him and he smelled the familiar mix of leather and sweat.

Aulun tried to rise, but a boot slammed down on his neck. He knew what came next, but he was never prepared for it. Having mana ripped from living, beating flesh had no comparison. He knew he screamed, but only because of the vibrations in his throat. Everything else faded into a pounding haze. The world turned grey and nonsensical. The mana he had been hording for such a confrontation left in an excruciating torrent. The Light was gone. He was hollow and small and alone once more.

It took an age to return. Aulun breathed steadily, despite the crushing weight on his neck. "Bastard," he grated weakly. "You used me as bait!"

"Did you expect _me_ to do it?" The question brimmed with genuine incredulity.

Boots stepped into his range of vision. Aulun looked up at the sin'dorei rogue towering over him. He was tall and pale with an aristocratic bearing natural for all such elves, but he was exceptionally good at what he did. Aulun had never met a rogue that rivalled this one in skill or cruelty. A cold thread of despair resonated in his chest. A black hood covered most of the elf's face, but his eyes gleamed toxic green.

The sin'dorei grabbed the edges of his breastplate and hauled him into the watchtower ruins. He left, a silhouette against the orange haze, and returned with Aulun's sword. He then sat on a half-shattered stair and withdrew a small red bottle from one of his pouches.

"Drink this."

"No."

The elf rose, eyes glowing. "It was not a question." He kneeled beside Aulun, yanked his helmet off, and forced the bottle between his teeth with enough force to break them. The health potion poured down his throat, and when he refused to swallow, the sin'dorei sat on him and held his nose and mouth shut. Seconds passed like years until Aulun had no choice but to swallow or pass out. He relaxed and swallowed the potion. Its sickly sweet taste clung to his tongue, but the effect was immediate. The potion was muscle-warming and soothing, but didn't make him drowsy.

The elf resumed his earlier position across the small room. He regarded Aulun without expression, ears stiff and curved like knives. "My father served the Alliance," he said suddenly. "Before humanity betrayed us."

"So, this is about revenge."

"No," the elf snapped impatiently. "You look confused whenever I speak your tongue. It annoys me."

Aulun grasped his helmet and slowly placed it back over his head. "Then it is a game."

"Feh." The elf leaned back, amused. "Foolish human. Civilization is days away. Why would I risk such a journey if you are here to satisfy my Thirst?"

Aulun said nothing. He stared at his hands for a long time, then his body snapped into motion. His sword was out of reach, so he used his hands. The enraged roar of the elf beneath him brought a pleasure so fine in its malice that he began to laugh. After days of not being able to sleep or rest or seek shelter without the fear of those hands sucking the life from him, there was no room for ideals. He felt drunk. He felt _powerful_.

He was vaguely surprised when a fist dug its way into his solar plexus. The room teetered precariously, but he stumbled back against a wall for support. They both gasped for breath.

"Accursed thing," Aulun whispered. "Darkness take you."

The elf snorted and withdrew one dagger. Its reflective blade served as a mirror while he straightened his eyebrows. "We each have needs," he replied after a moment. "Or are humans too pious for that as well?"

Aulun sucked in a deep breath. "You would not die without mana."

"I could not function." The elf raised his eyebrows, pleased with the result, and put his dagger away. "That equates to death here."

"I will not be used in this fashion." Aulun steadied himself and walked out the door. "If I ever see your face again, I will kill you."

The elf laughed, delighted.

* * *

**_Hope_**

_Archmage Arugal and Aumna Valir_

* * *

Arugal opened his eyes and saw the soft, alien darkness of a dim room. He flexed his fingers and his toes, but he felt unhurt. There was a great weight upon his chest, some terrible knowledge that lingered on the cusp of consciousness. He brushed it away and sat up. The familiar walls of Shadowfang Keep surrounded him, but there was no sound, no movement. The ever-present whuffling of his keep had fallen silent.

Questions buzzed in his head. He ignored them and stood up. The room teetered precariously, but he willed it to dissipate. After a long moment, the floor ceased to veer in odd directions. There was blood and tears in his robes, but no wounds.

"Fenrus!"

Silence answered. He walked slowly, hand pressed against the ancient stone walls. Everything felt close and claustrophobic, the smell of magic hung heavily in the air. Again, a cold intuition pushed him forward. He had to see for himself. The soft rasp of his feet on the floor echoed sharply throughout the keep. He stepped over the bodies of several worgen, annoyed by their weakness and his own.

The study was an absolute mess. Arugal nearly slumped to his knees when he had to force the door open and push aside a stack of fallen books. Their ancient pages crumbled under the pressure, but he took no notice. Fenrus lay in the middle of the room, blue eyes fixed and glassy. The worg had been skinned.

Arugal walked over to his pet and kneeled down. The furless flesh was pale and wet, like that of a newborn child. He leaned his forehead on Fenrus's massive flank and closed his eyes. His perfect son, his _vision_ come to fruition…. An unearthly roar resonated throughout the castle. Dimly, he realized it was his own voice. He clenched his fists and stared at Fenrus's mutilated form. For a moment, thought simply wasn't possible.

The anger came like a wave, overwhelming but transient. "It has always been this way," Arugal muttered and stood up. "Curse them."

"That is a lie."

He looked over his shoulder to see a human woman standing in the study doorway. Her hair was blonde and shoulder length, and made her appear deceptively soft. He could feel the charge in the air, the thrum of her power. It made his flesh tingle and had he ventured closer, it would have become pain.

"I do not know you," he said curtly, "yet you resurrected me. To what end?"

Her laughter was warm but sharp. "A boon," she replied. "To put an end to the tale of Shadowfang Keep…and of Arugal."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you want?"

She stepped into the room. A great sword hung on her back, its golden hilt shone above her right shoulder. "My name is Aumna Valir. I have come to help you."

"Help?" Arugal turned around. "What manner of help?"

"Rest." Aumna clasped her hands together, mail singing with every movement. She radiated a powerful, meditative self-assurance that gently repelled the darkness around her. "I watched the adventurers come to your door and slay everything within these walls, but left the dead untended. A foolish thing, especially in these darks times," she murmured. "I chose to intervene."

"_Why_?"

Aumna arched one pale brow. "Need I remind a master of the dark arts that no other force in this world has the longevity of ill-will?"

Arugal snorted. "If you are not here to slay me then leave or I will kill you."

"Do not mistake this as charity." Aumna inclined her head. "You have time for one task before you die at my hands." Her face was pitiless and serene. "And by the power I command, no one after me will raise your bones. Not some foolish adventurer and certainly not the Scourge." She gestured towards the body of Fenrus. "His spirit will wander endlessly after such a contemptible fate. He must be soothed and buried."

"You presume," Arugal muttered, but his eyes were blank.

Aumna stepped further into the study. Her eyes studied Fenrus's corpse, then turned to absorb the dusty books, candles, and treasures on the shelves. Some belonged to Arugal and some belonged to the keep's former baron, whom she had already put to rest.

"Yes," she replied. Her eyes fell upon three books, _History of the Silver Hand: Volumes I, II, III_. "May I take these?"

Arugal bristled and followed her gaze. He looked surprised by the title, but simply shrugged. "I have no use for them."

"Thank you." She smiled at his incredulity, and proceeded to wrap and pack the volumes. Arugal clenched his right fist and furtively called upon his power, but it moved like sand in a desert wind, and he hadn't the strength or will to command it. He moved towards the wall and leaned against it.

"Paladin."

Aumna straightened and favoured him with a knowing expression. "Yes?"

Arugal studied her for a moment. "I…would ask something of you." When this received no response, his brows drew into a glare. "I have no need of your childish spells. I chose my master and I am not afraid to answer for that allegiance." He paused, but Aumna made no attempt to interrupt. "If your word is true, then raise Fenrus."

"But then he would be without a master." She tilted her head, surprised. "A worg chooses its own path. I know that much."

"Feh." He pushed himself away from the wall and drew himself up to his full height. "I trust you are not a bumbling fool like so many others. He would understand it is my wish. I will not rest until this is done."

Aumna laughed, but without malice. "You are a step away from oblivion, and still you would give me commands?" She regarded him calmly. "I will turn your bones to ash, Arugal. I will _burn_ you. There will be no returning to this world. Are you certain this is your wish?"

Arugal studied her for a moment. He wore a mask, but his face radiated indecision. After a long moment he nodded. "It is."

"Truly?" She asked softly.

"_Yes_."

"So be it."

Aumna unsheathed her broadsword in one smooth movement. Its golden, iridescent blade shone with inner power and Arugal felt its proximity like a brand against his cheek. He considered simply running away, but one look at Fenrus rooted him to the spot.

"You have my word." She held her blade at a deadly angle. "Are you ready?"

Arugal nodded mutely. Aumna lunged forward, mail singing, sword flashing, face radiant.

* * *

_**Truth**_

_Lirril Dawnblade and Avossene Vishlem _

* * *

Lirril slept very little. Her armour was wet and chafed against her exposed skin. Her hand and knee burned with infection, but she didn't know how to combat it without magic. The night was filled with the rush of waves and the chorus of night creatures. Hours crawled past. She passed some time attempting to summon Holy Light, but it was exhausting and futile. Again and again the Light defeated her, as solid and impenetrable as a block of stone.

The sand glowed white beneath the moon. She could its wobbling reflection upon the sea. When the sky paled with the blue-grey of dawn, it began to drizzle. Rain fell upon the bridge above and seeped through its fractured stone to hit Lirril's flesh.

Raindrops paced the sunrise. Little by little, light crept across the water, then the sand, but it didn't penetrate the cold shade where she sat. Lirril shifted slightly, and a sliver of molten sun was reflected in the skinning knife. She groaned and closed her eyes. Slowly, the rain retreated. She was left to smoulder in the shadows.

Lirril licked her lips and rolled onto her side. She trembled, but pressed her lips into a bloodless line. Seagulls flew overhead, their shadows sliding noiselessly along the sand. After an eternity of endurance, Lirril propped her good hand beneath her ribs and slowly rose to her feet. It was hard, hellish work. Her knee was swollen and ached deeply whenever she moved. Her hand felt like it had been branded. Every heartbeat prompted a white-hot bolt of pain through her entire arm. Her feet hurt abominably, but they would carry her. They had to.

Lirril emerged from underneath the bridge and stood stupidly in the middle of the beach. The world was _bright_. Her weak leg wobbled, and she had to keep moving or collapse. She stumbled towards the forest, apathetic to the beasts that lurked around her. The air was full of smells, but none of them carried the electrifying tang of magic. The island was a desert, empty of mana worms or wraiths she could prey upon. Sweat broke out along her temples at the very thought of them.

The coast stretched as far as the eye could see. To her left cliffs rose above the beach, cordoning it off from the island's interior. To her right, the distant specks of murloc settlements were silhouetted against the water. She exhaled slowly, eyes so dim she appeared human. She backtracked, and walked along the water's edge, gaze fixed upon the ground in front of her. Her pace was slow and unsteady and graceless, but she kept moving. Waves foamed at her feet. The smell of seaweed filled the air. Hunger and thirst rose into her awareness. She had forgotten her supplies underneath the bridge. Foolish.

A deep breath had to be taken before every step. Her injured leg felt rubbery and cool, but the pain in her knee was dull. Her hand throbbed constantly. Her throat burned for water and mana. Her stomach gurgled emptily. So many needs to assuage, but each was rebuffed by an illogical urge to keep moving. Where and to what end, only her feet knew.

Azuremyst Isle _was_ beautiful. Lirril was accustomed to the milder shores of Quel'Thalas, but the island's hardened lushness appealed to her. She inhaled the chilly sea wind, felt its freshness soothe the Thirst building at the back of her throat. The pines towered on the distant hills, like knives defending the island's inner regions. If she closed her eyes, she could feel the power criss-crossing beneath her feet. How odd that her ancestors would revoke such a thing.

Unintelligible voices cut across the sea's unending roar. Lirril paused and regarded the shapes rushing towards her. Two draenei approached. One wore chain mail, the other a pale robe. She waited, filled with terminal calm. The ferocious desire to survive had all but evaporated. She had arrived at her destination, then.

They slowed, and then stopped when Lirril didn't move. They spoke in a soft brogue that defied understanding. The woman lowered her Claymore and pointed, her brows drawn into a frown. The shaman retorted, his shoulders squaring. The draenei turned as one, their eyes riveted to something on her face.

The woman walked closer, very close, until they were within arm's length. Lirril could smell the mana flowing through her body. A fellow paladin. She reached out, seeking a taste, but the dreanei's pommel gave a world-greying crack against her skull. She fell with dots in her eyes. It was impossible to move, even when a hand dug into her scalp and yanked her into a kneeling position. The quick burn of a knife raced across her throat. She fell bonelessly to the ground. A volatile conversation took place overhead. The words were alien, but the bitterness, anger, and curiosity beneath them were universal.

Lirril tuned them out. She embraced the oblivion behind her eyelids. They wouldn't skin her alive. They wouldn't torture her. They wouldn't tear her out of her grave. As long as there was no more pain, she didn't care. Her part had been played. The mission ended disastrously and nothing she did would change that. Death would be clean, free of worry.

Cold, gauntleted hands lifted Lirril off the sand. She saw an oval face silhouetted by the sun, adorned by two glowing eyes. _Blue_. She floated in the draenei's arms, touched by neither time nor pain. The entire world ran like wet paint, as strange and fanciful as a dream. Her mind drifted towards simpler things. Rernathor's home, his face, her dragonhawk hatchling, swimming along the Golden Strand... Everything came in a soft daze, filled with feelings easier than love.

_Little Lirril…_ her father's leathery voice filled the void between breaths. _Where are you hiding? _

Lirril woke beside a corpse. Her instinctive shout shattered in her throat. She swallowed thickly, astonished by the painful band that clenched around her neck. She ran her fingers over it and felt clean linen bandages. They smelled earthy, dipped in potion. Her mind reeled, and for a long moment, she stared at the dead sin'dorei beside her. He was sprawled haphazardly across a mat. His hair was red like Rernathorn's, but he wore an ornate mask. His eyes were open, blank, and unfocused. She reached over and closed them.

A cold wind blew across the outpost. Lirril had only periodically met with Surveyor Candress, but she knew enough to recognize Azure Watch. She sat up slowly and inched away from the dead sin'dorei. They had been placed underneath a crudely fashioned tarp, amid a clutter of herbs and potions. Her hand and knee had been properly tended, and she was stripped of her scalemail. She wore her blue shirt and a pair of unfamiliar breeches made for draenei legs. Her toes were invisible beneath its excess length.

Azure Watch was a busy place. Draenei paced back and forth, chattered in their barbaric tongue, and went about repairing pieces of their ship that were to serve as buildings. A strange bear-like creature stood in the middle, its fearsome face drawn back into a snarl. It met her stare with eyes full of awareness. She frowned and looked away. A night elf lay unconscious or dead on the far side of her fallen kin. A fragile, dusk-skinned thing. She sneered at it.

A shadow loomed overhead. Lirril drew back, teeth bared. The draenei spoke in a soothing tone, her face eased by a hesitant smile, her hand held out. She was mana-barren: lacking magic and usefulness. Lirril managed a soft swear, but her throat swelled with the effort. She settled on a glare, and drew her legs underneath her body. Her knee thrummed with weakness.

"Stay away," she commanded hoarsely. When the draenei stepped closer, she scowled and raised her hand. "Insolent blue goat!"

The draenei paused, read the malevolence in Lirril's eyes. She straightened and spoke to someone over her shoulder, hair spilling around her horns. A familiar voice answered, and the draenei that came and stood in front of Lirril was the paladin she had encountered on the beach. They spoke quietly, luminous eyes fixed on her. She fidgeted with the uneven stitching that ran along her breeches. Her eyes returned to the dead sin'dorei. She sucked in a steeling breath and gently removed his mask. A flush stole across her cheeks, but she wiped it free of blood, and slipped it over her own features. The dead elf had a lovely face.

"Feh," she rasped, "what are you gaping at?"

The draenei didn't react. They continued to stare, inscrutable. The steady clinking of hammers and displeased voices drifted on the wind. The air thickened with anticipation. Lirril slowly unfurled her limbs and stood up. Her injured leg wobbled, but didn't buckle. She was met by silence. Her captors regarded her without expression. They towered over her by nearly a head.

Laughter cut through the tension. Lirril jumped and gazed uneasily at the newest interloper. It was a craggy-faced human, a sailor by the looks of his uniform. He had an easy air, and waved at the draenei with genuine enthusiasm. He caught sight of her, and his toothy smile lost its warmth. He walked up beside the paladin and mana-barren, and gestured incredulously towards her. He spoke quickly and warily. The draenei's answers were calm, but unyielding. She was sandwiched between them. The paladin grabbed her arms and held her still while the human reluctantly pulled down the lip of her mask. She tried to bite him. He laughed nervously and stepped back, sounding mildly intrigued. He pointed to her face, then shrugged at the draenei.

Lirril wrenched from side to side. "Release me!" Her voice suddenly cracked. "I said release me," she whispered fiercely. The fiery band around her throat constricted. Breathing became a strength-sapping enterprise. She sagged against the draenei behind her and stared at her bare feet. Her toes were pale and rosy, barely darker than her hair.

Someone laughed. "Are they interrogating you already, elfling?"

Lirril slowly raised her head. A draenei female stood at the watch's gates. She wore an innocuous blue dress that clashed with the patch over her right eye.

"How do I speak Thalassian?" She prompted when Lirril said nothing. "One of your own taught me. My name is Elysia. I will be leading your interrogation."

"In…terrogation?" Lirril croaked.

"In a manner of speaking." Elysia met the eyes of everyone present. "I suppose no one has told you anything, have they?" She smiled ironically. "Do not look so worried, my dear. I will not harm you…if you behave."

Lirril strained against the paladin's grip, eyes blazing green. "I will not betray Surveyor Candress!"

Elysia looked genuinely surprised. Noises ceased. Lirril looked around and felt the press of eyes on her skin. The interrogator issued several curt commands, and walked towards a secluded part of the watch. The two draenei and human followed, pushing her with them. It was a cliff that overlooked the island. A draenei male stood there, his back turned to them. Elysia bowed and introduced herself. A raised hand immediately silenced her. He turned and regarded them with a heavy expression. His eyes touched Lirril's face, full of pity and contempt.

He spoke in a deep, resonant voice. He gestured to Elysia, the paladin, and then at Lirril. The human spoke in his exotic twang. A hush descended, and everyone glanced at her as if something profound had been unearthed. She scowled at them, ears bristling underneath her hair.

Elysia stepped forward. "This is Exarch Menelaous. He wishes to hear what you have to say."

"I would rather die," Lirril croaked.

"I am certain you would, but we already have Candress' plans. You are not here to provide us with tactical information."

Lirril snorted. "Then what is this about? Why have you kept me alive?"

"Freckles."

"_Freckles_."

"Yes," Elysia raised her brows, "freckles. That is a human trait, is it not?"

Lirril pressed her lips into a bloodless line and wished she could readjust her mask. "Is this why I am here? Pathetic."

Elysia translated for the others, and laughed to herself. Her left eye gleamed like a sword point. "Your sin'dorei brethren have hurt our people, but humanity has aided us. There has never been a human-blood elf hybrid before." She gestured to the man standing beside her. "His name is Boldev. His ship will escort you across the sea. The King of Stormwind will decide your fate."

Lirril scoffed openly. "I am to be a pawn in Alliance politics?"

Elysia gestured to the paladin behind her. "This is Avossene. She will accompany you, as well."

Exarch Menelaous spoke to Boldev, who shrugged. Elysia waited quietly, and when the Exarch glanced at her, she continued.

"What is your name?"

"Lirril Dawnblade," was the proud reply.

Elysia translated. There was more whispering. Boldev looked appalled, then anxious. He murmured to Menelaous apologetically and pointed towards the distant sea. His body language was riddled with bewilderment. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke again. He rubbed the back of his head and stared at the ground. Elysia looked amused. Avossene's fingers tightened around Lirril's wrists.

"Ah, a pity." Elysia regarded Lirril with anything but. "It seems you will have to go to Darkshore before you can travel onward. The humans are not ready to set sail." She smiled coolly. "I hope you are not averse to the company of night elves."

Lirril concealed her dismay. "Hardly," she rasped, "their deaths are the sweetest."

Elysia's left eye gleamed. She translated calmly, and the air turned to molten lead.


End file.
